


All They Could Do

by sapphic_ambitions



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, adult percabeth, reliving the deaths of friends in nightmares, the later years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_ambitions/pseuds/sapphic_ambitions
Summary: Percy has a nightmare about all those he lost in the Titan War. Annabeth is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	All They Could Do

_“A half-blood of the eldest gods”_

Percy was running.

_“Shall reach sixteen against all odds”_

Feet hitting the ground. Breath labored.

_“And see the world in endless sleep”_

He was running and running and running.

_“The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap”_

Luke was the first one he passed. 

Luke, just as he’d last seen him. Dirty from the grime of a long fight and bleeding from his left side. His eyes were glossy, almost white, but they bore into Percy like they could see all of his sins. Luke reached for Percy as he approached, reached out with one hand while the other clutched at his bleeding side, reached out with his lips parted, like he wanted to speak to Percy, like he had something to say-

But Percy was running. And he ran right past him.

_“A single choice shall end his days”_

He passed Ethan McNamara.

He passed Castor, Dionysus’s son.

Michael Yew.

Lee Fletcher.

Zoe Nightshade.

Bianca.

Silena.

Beckendorf.

All of them reaching out to him, all of them calling out to him, all of them gasping his name.

_“Olympus to preserve or raze”_

Every time Percy looked in a new direction, the dead were staring at him. Every time he thought he could breathe again, the ghost of someone he once knew snatched his breath right out of his chest. There was nothing, nothing around him except white _nothing_ and the ghost of everyone he’s ever lost. 

One foot in front of the other, breathing in and out.

He slammed into a wall.

The wall of the Princess Andromeda. He blinked and the white nothing shifted into that sunny day, on the water, not far from New York City. Beckendorf stood exactly where he had been the last time Percy saw him. Percy tried to cry out for him, to reach him, to stop him, to take the blow for him, anything, anything to save his friend’s life. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could barely _breathe_.

Beckendorf’s jaw went slack, dropped open, green mist pouring out and spilling all over the deck. 

“ _A half-blood of the eldest gods_ ,” his voice echoing and rattling into Percy’s chest, sounding damn near like the raspy voice of the Oracle, “ _Shall reach sixteen against all odds,_ ” Beckendorf’s eyes bore into Percy, and the message was clear.

The ship exploded, but instead of getting to dive into the water or even being thrown from the deck by the force of the explosion, Percy was still rooted to the deck, forced to watch the explosion tear through Beckendorf, forced to watch his friend die in the way he never had originally. The message behind Beckendorf’s eyes didn’t die with him, though. It rippled through Percy’s chest harsher than the blast that took his friend’s life.

_It should have been you_.

The fire took over Percy’s vision and when it cleared, he was in the throne room at Olympus. Even before he saw the body, he knew it was from the olden days because there were only twelve thrones gathered around the hearth. And next to the hearth, the body of Luke Castellan. 

He laid there, in the same position he’d been in the last time Percy’d seen him, the same blood running from his wound, the same dagger lying next to him. But this time, he had green smoke pouring out of his agape mouth.

“ _And see the world in endless sleep_ ,” Luke’s broken voice called out, echoing the Oracle. Then the dead hero lifted his head off the ground and turned his glassy eyed gaze to Percy. “ _The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap_ ,”

Percy tried to run, tried to close his eyes, but he could do nothing but watch the son of Hermes perish before him, do nothing but watch his head drop back down and the last breath leave his body, nothing but watch the fate that should have been _his_. He should have been the hero. No one else should have had to die for him that day. No one should have had to die.

Percy blinked once more and he was in the desert, in Hephaestus’s junk yard, and Bianca di Angelo was running towards Talos, green mist trailing in her wake.

_“A single choice shall end his days,_ ” This time the voice of the Oracle came from the giant, and Percy wasn’t rooted to the ground. His heart leapt into his throat and he knew what he had to do.

He had to stop Bianca. He could stop her, he could _save_ her. He could uphold his promise to Nico, he could save them _all_ from so much pain and torment. 

He could take her place. 

He began running towards her, screaming her name with his entire gut.

“ _Olympus_ ,” The giant continued, and Percy somehow just knew that he had until the end of the prophecy to save her. He ran harder than he ever had before, running and screaming and barely breathing. 

“ _To preserve,_ ” He was so close, he was so close. No one else would have to die for him. No one else would have to die. He was gaining on her, she was just an arm’s length in front of him. Just within grasping distance. He called out to her and out stretched his hand, trying to yank her arm or her hair or _anything_ that would stop her.

“ _Or raze,_ ” Bianca di Angelo disappeared. 

_It should have been you._

Percy cried out for her and dropped to his knees, dropped back in the white nothing, surrounded by everyone he’s ever lost. Surrounded by all the people who died fighting his war. Green mist poured from each of them, filling up the seemingly endless void surrounding them, the Great Prophecy echoing over and over, rattling in his head and chest. All of them staring at him, all of them dead because of him. The mist creeped closer and closer to him, but there was nowhere for him to run. He was completely surrounded by his fallen comrades. He was completely encompassed by one thought.

_It should have been you._

Percy let out a _wail_ from the deepest caverns of his chest as the ground slipped out from beneath him. He was falling falling falling until he landed _hard_ and sat up gasping for air. He was completely surrounded by darkness, couldn’t see a damn thing, but he felt hot and trapped and like he was suffocating. He had landed on something and... also under something? It was hard to tell in the dark. But he could move freely, so he practically threw himself to his feet, trying to feel like he could breathe. Sobs wracked his body as he stumbled around in the darkness. His hands were tingling, and he shook them out fiercely, trying to get feeling into them as he paced.

A light turned on behind him and he whipped around, trying to figure out what fresh hell he was in now. He took in his surroundings with wild eyes.

Light blue walls.

A bookcase.

A bed.

A blonde woman standing in front of him. Gray eyes. 

“Percy?” 

Her voice was normal. No oracle. 

Annabeth caught him just as his knees buckled out from under him. She eased him down to the floor as he somehow cried _harder._ Strong arms wrapped around him, the soft lemon scent of her enveloping him as he cried into her neck. She didn’t say anything, just rubbed his back and kissed his head, holding him tight. He was awake and safe and with Annabeth.

He was _safe_ and _alive._

Eventually he had no more tears left to give and gently sat up, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, and when he pulled his hands away, Annabeth was searching his face, a familiar expression in her eyes. He nodded at her.

She got to her feet first, and then gently grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up with her. She led him from their room and into the living room, pulling out a chair for him to sit in at the table. They didn’t have to say anything as he sat at the table or as she opened the closest window, letting the cool spring New York air into their apartment. He said nothing as he focused on his breathing and getting his heart rate down to normal. She said nothing as she slipped into the kitchen and came back moments later with a large glass of water and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. They didn’t have to say anything because they had this routine down.

But he did mumble a thanks as she slipped into the chair next to his and he took several gulps of water. The water made him feel better, not just because he was the son of the sea god or _whatever_ , but because his throat was a wreck and he had just cried a _lot_. His hands shook as he put the glass back down and reached for a cookie. Annabeth gently ran her fingers through his hair, her stormy eyes trained on his face.

“What was it this time?” She asked, her voice soft. He leaned into her touch, grateful for her warm presence and the equally warm cookies. She must have microwaved them or something. Sally had sent them the recipe last week. He swallowed the cookie and drank more water before answering. 

“The Great Prophecy, over and over again. Everyone who died during the Titan War, Beckendorf. Bianca. Luke. ” He mumbled, staring at his shaking hands. One of Annabeth’s hands slipped into his, and he instantly felt steadier. “They all kept repeating the prophecy to me. I had to relive each of their deaths. And each time..." He drew in a shaky breathe. There was no point lying to Annabeth. "Each time, I thought that it should have been me instead.”

Annabeth exhaled, and reached over to kiss his temple. 

He nearly started crying again. 

“Percy,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Their deaths are not your fault,” Years ago, he might have tried to argue with her, but now he nodded. “You did the best you could, you did _all_ that you could do in a terrible war,” she continued. “And I’m grateful that you’re here with me now,” He nodded again.

They both had survivor’s guilt. He didn’t need to explain it or justify it to her. She understood.

They had both been out of the hero work for a few years now, both college graduates and living happily together in New York City. But they both had their bad days, especially as it got closer to summer. They were both weighed down from the trauma of their childhood. Because they had been just _kids_ when they’d witnessed so much death and destruction. They hadn’t been ready to watch their friends die, not that you can be ready for that kind of thing. But they’d both be stuck with that trauma for the rest of their lives.

Percy’s mostly manifested at night and in dreams. He’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming and sobbing. It used to happen all the time, several times a week, but over the years of healing (and therapy), it was less and less. But it still happened. It probably would for the rest of his life. But at least he was better at coping now. He used to wake up and not know where he was and nothing could shake him out of it, not even Annabeth. One time he was so panicked that he drew Riptide and broke a vase.

Annabeth’s mostly manifested in attacks during the day. It always starts with something little, and Percy’s gotten good at seeing the moment she’s triggered. Sometimes it’ll be the scent of pine, or someone uses the word “promise.” Sometimes they’ll pass a specific block in New York and he can see it across her face, the beginning of a panic attack. In the same way she’s gotten good at taking care of him during one of his episodes, he’s knows what he needs to do to ground her back in reality. Get her to breathe. Remind her where she was and _when_ she was, that she wasn’t in the middle of a war. Remind her that she was safe.

That was what they did for each other: caught each other when they fell and brought each other back to reality. Made each other feel _safe_.

They also had a therapist who specialized in half-blood trauma, so that helped.

“What do you need right now?” Annabeth asked, brushing his hair back. That was a common question between them.

He munched on another cookie. “I don’t know,” He said, sighing. “I think I just wanna sit here for a little while longer,” Annabeth nodded, and he brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles. 

She smiled softly at him. “Love you,” 

He retuned it. “Love you, too,”

And so they sat there, listening to the comforting sounds of New York at night, holding each other’s hands and breathing deeply. That was all they could do. 

That was all they could do.


End file.
